


there is fresh blood in this cut

by wan (kuro49)



Category: High and Low: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 00:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10231115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/wan
Summary: Most days, Cobra finds himself feeling like he is on a date with a little boy holding a grudge.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i have a history with boyband turf wars and they are everything i hate admitting to being right up my yankee alley. i have yet to watch the movie so this just goes up to s2.

 

When his mouth meets his, it stings faintly of the collision of the first fist thrown between them. When he kisses back, it tastes of copper and what is probably loathing all mixed up in his demand for more if not harder.

There is a war coming.

Like a turning tide, the rising sun, the inevitability doesn’t hit until they are down on the ground gasping for breaths in turn. The flooding taste of blood inside of their mouths, the sharp pain that starts from their knuckles to radiate up the length of their forearms.

 

Before that, they take turns hitting baseballs in a too small cage and most days, Cobra finds himself feeling like he is on a date with a little boy holding a grudge when what they do just resembles a whole lot of tugging at pigtails.

 

Murayama walks inside in his best plaid shirt.

Cobra is passing time inside of the batting cage.

Strolling right up to the safety net barely hanging in place, Murayama grins when the ball comes flying and Cobra does not swing. “1-1.” He says with a lilt to his words, a tilt to his head.

“Even if I lose, it doesn’t make it a win for you, kid.”

Murayama scoffs at that in disagreement and jerks his chin to that familiar sound the machine makes just before the next ball is about to come hurtling out. “Better watch it, Cobra-chan or it’s going to be 1-2.”

The ball comes, Cobra turns, and swings the perfect swing without pause.

“That’s Cobra- _san_ to you.”

“Or what?” Murayama asks, leaning in too close, fingers snagging into the net, his teeth snapping in the breath of space between them still. “You’re going to devour me, Cobra-chan?”

Cobra watches as the kid steps inside the cage and extends his hand out for the baseball bat like he is next, naturally so.

“Don’t tempt me, Murayama.”

Like his namesake, Cobra tells him this with a smirk, fangs and all. Their fingers do not touch. They do not have to when he finally hands it off to him.

 

They meet again (like he said they would, after that time when he asks in that way where it isn’t really a question at all, telling him, _let’s meet again_ like it is fact). Cobra doesn’t say _yes_ but he isn’t giving him a resounding _no_ either, and Murayama decides he has to call it a win somehow, somewhere along this long winding road to the top.

 

Murayama Yoshiki laughs.

It is loud and obnoxious and probably a little bit off kilter if the bright shine to those wide eyes tells Cobra anything at all. It is not indulgence when he doesn’t say anything at all, just watches the way those narrow shoulders shake with the full force of his own laughter beneath the pitch black of that infamous uniform jacket.

_You would think he has never had a sad thought in his head._

Murayama keeps his stance, ready for the next one to come as his mouth twists. “You think you have it all figured out.”

"I know you don't." Cobra answers without rising up to the fight.

Murayama bites down on his lip until he draws blood.

"Maybe try graduating first?"

If Murayama is looking for a fight, Cobra isn’t going to be the one to start it.

"Not everyone can be blessed with good looks _and_ a brain."

“And nobody dropped you on the head as a baby, you just took too many punches to the head.” _Out of your own volition too_ goes unsaid.

Cobra watches as the kid swings again, baseball sailing through the air when it meets the blunt edge of the bat with full force. It goes wild. But that is to be expected.

 

He is the rightful king to Oyakou.

He is the man with the final say on these streets of Sannoh.

But here, in this too small cage, they are not just that. When Murayama turns to grin at him like he deserves a prize, the bat still in hand, it isn’t Cobra who leans over to give him exactly that.

It is Hino Junpei.

 

 


End file.
